


Jean Gets Stuck in a Shirt

by SatyrSyd37



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ficlet, Fluff, Jean being Jean, M/M, One Shot, Shopping, freckled jesus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-09 22:06:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1999668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatyrSyd37/pseuds/SatyrSyd37
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title literally says it all. Marco and Jean, high school buddies, go shopping and try on shirts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jean Gets Stuck in a Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> So I came up with this idea after trying on a swimsuit that should have fit me but INSTEAD I GOT STUCK IN IT and my mom had to get me out. Personally, I like this version better.
> 
> P.S. For the sake of the any passersby, let's just say that the rest of this dressing room is very much empty.
> 
> P.P.S. These characters do not belong to me
> 
> P.P.P.S. Feel free to hit me up on [my tumblr](http://satyrsyd37.tumblr.com/)

Jean was a shirt size medium. He had been for the past two years, and that was that. Through thick and thin, through the ugly ass shirts and the shitty itchy ones and the brands that ran too small or big - he was not a large, not a small, but a medium.  

Of course Jean (being Jean), went against the advice of the salesperson who had told him this brand ran small. What would the salesperson know? He wasn't the one who'd been buying Jean’s shirts for years.  

So, naturally, the first shirt he tried on was tight. Like, _really_ tight. So tight he could barely fit it over his head. He tugged it over his face, though, (probably messing up his beautiful hair, he thought sullenly) and scrunched his arm into his side, maneuvering the shirt so his hand fit through the hole uncomfortably. Jean grunted; the material was stretched and squeezed his shoulders. A look in the mirror out of the corner of his uncovered eye gave him a good enough view to see that he looked ridiculous - the shirt engulfed one shoulder, squeezed awkwardly into his side, and was halfway down his flat chest.  

“Jean? You okay in there?” called Marco from the next stall over. This was not the first time Marco had been shopping with him, so he knew how Jean was always hellbent on getting size medium, often to unfavorable ends.  

Jean struggled for another moment. He snatched the material bunched up on his other shoulder and forced it down his torso, wiggling his arm through at an awkward angle to navigate it out of the other hole.  

“ ’M fine,” Jean huffed.  

That was Marco for you - a freckled Jesus; caring, concerned, thoughtful, spreading goodness and purity with this adorable smile. Jean honestly couldn't imagine where he would be now without Marco. Probably bloodied and beaten in a ditch somewhere. Ever since they had become friends their freshman year at Shadis Academy, Marco had watched over Jean, almost like a second mother (albeit a hot one) (that was Jean's age) (and a guy) (come to think of it he was nothing like his mother). Marco was the only one who could calm Jean down when he got hot headed. He was also the only one who got Jean's jokes, or laughed off his insults, and delt with his shit so well that Jean felt like he could just be himself around him.

Naturally, because of this, Jean couldn't help but be attracted to the bastard. He was just too cute and too nice and made Jean feel too fucking good all the time. Marco didn't know, of course; and even if Jean could buck up the courage to do something about it, Jean wasn't good with...relationship stuff. Feelings and emotions and shit. And he didn't want to spoil what he had with Marco.

Jean sighed as reality came back to him, along with the difficulties of the shirt he was trying on. The cottony material squeezed his sides, tensing questionably at the seems. It was a little short, reveling a thin strip of Jean’s toned belly no matter how hard Jean pulled it down. It was a nice shirt, really: a plain, but well fitting, navy blue t-shirt. And by well fitting Jean meant squeezing the shit out of his intestines.   

Jean scowled at his reflection, angry that the salesperson  _might_  have been just a little bit right.  _Might_  have. Only because this brand was obviously incompetent at sizing their products.  

One glance at the price tag sticking out of the bottom of his sleeve and Jean moved the take the shirt off. He crossed his hands back over his hand and yanked the shirt.   

It didn’t come up.  

Jean yanked again, this time a little harder, and the shirt rode up a little, still attached to his sides like a leech.  

Now Jean panicked and started pulling on the sleeves, trying to work his arms back inside the not-quite-medium-sized piece of shit, yanking and pulling and tugging at the material in any attempt to get it off him.  

“Git - off - uf - mfff!!!” Jean grunted as he worked the material around his chest.  

“Jean? You still okay?” Marco called again.  

Jean tried to move his elbow that tented the right side of his shirt but - couldn’t. He pulled again, but his left arm on the other side was stuck halfway inside the navy colored death trap, only his hand sticking out of the sleeve. He was stuck.  

“Jean?”   

Jean heaved a loud sigh. “Marco?” he said, with as much calm as he could muster in his increasingly aggravated state. “Could you…" he gritted his teeth, "come in here?”  

He heard the lock on the door next to him slide open, and Marco said, “Sure - what do you need?”  

“I'm…I’m stuck.”  

“…stuck?”  

“Yeah, dipshit. Stuck."

"Er, how?" 

"...In my shirt.”  

Jean groaned at the peals of giggles coming from outside his door.  

"Could you just get your ass in here?!”  

“Um, I could, if you could open the door…?”  

Jean let out a louder groan and stared down the lock on his door, trying to figure out the best way to get it open within his current entanglement while simultaneously ignoring the chuckles coming from a certain freckled boy.  

Eventually he leaned over, so his left hand, still sticking out of his sleeve, could awkwardly flop and flail around the cool metal lock, hoping to catch the handle-lever-thingy at some point. Aha! he grabbed it with the tips of his fingers, and worked on pushing it away from the lock, biting his tongue in concentration.  

A little  _click_  and the door swung slowly inwards. Marco stood before a scowling Jean, evidently trying to hold back a laugh by biting his lip. Jean said, “Just get this fucking think off of me.”  

Marco came in and shut the door behind him. He turned to face Jean. They were in close quarters, since the dressing rooms were only meant for one person. Marco paled a little when his face dropped a little bit, looking at the exposed part of Jean’s torso. Jean suddenly felt his heart rate speed up at being so close to Marco, who had suddenly turned a little pink in the face.  

“Okay, um…just - hold this arm up,” he yanked on Jean’s right arm. Jean yelped but his arm had been forced out of the tented prison. He bit back a cringe for Marco’s sake. He didn’t want to seem ungrateful to his friend, especially when he could see his faint little smile so close to his face. He could make out the details of his lips, the angles of his nose, and every last adorable freckle…  

“Um, Jean?”  

“Huh?”  

“I said lift your right arm up.”  

“Oh.”

Jean did just that, and for once Jean was glad of the other’s boys advantageous height, even if it was just an inch. Marco pulled up the shirt on Jean’s right side, delicate fingers grazing his torso, and Jean couldn’t help but shiver against their touch. Marco gasped, and Jean felt his face light up in embarrassment. Had he felt Jean shiver?  

Jean swallowed nervously, but Marco just smiled shyly at him. He continued pulling up the shirt, all the way up to his shoulder, and then he guided Jean’s arm through the sleeve-hole. Jean watched Marco’s face as he concentrated on freeing Jean of his machine-stitched prison.   

Did Marco know? Jean had been wondering for awhile now if Marco knew he was crushing on him. Recently he had been dropping hints; he walked closer to Jean than usual, he had turned pink from his touches, and smirked more than ever when Jean got flustered. But...that didn't mean anything. Right? It wasn’t possible – Marco was usually blind to such things; like that time Krista had asked him out and he didn’t even realize it was a date. He couldn’t know, right?  

“Here, lean into me…” Marco pulled Jean a little closer, evidently trying to reach a bit of fabric behind Jean’s head. Jean tensed up, but leaned into the gap between Marco’s ear and shoulder. His scent overwhelmed Jean; it was musky and strong and almost sweet like vanilla but it smelled like Marco and Jean couldn’t help but give a little sniff.  

Marco stopped moving and Jean’s eyes widened. _Shit_.  

“Um, Jean? Did you just...sniff me?” Marco asked quietly.  

 _What the fuck is wrong with you, Jean!?_ he scolded himself. “Uh…no?”  

But Jean could practically feel Marco’s smirk emanating from him, even though the other boy didn’t say anything.  

Eventually his right side was freed. His left side still ached painfully, but Jean let out a little whoop of victory, jumping back a bit, and Marco grinned seductively at him.  

Wait -  _seductively?_  

Jean stood with his mouth hanging up as Marco ran his hand up the exposed part of his torso, causing more shivers. _Was this something just-friends did?_ Jean wondered. Jean shook himself out of his daze and looked at Marco questioningly, but the freckled boy just leaned into Jean a little more, pressing him up against the wall.   

“How convenient it is for me to have you stuck like that, Jean,” Marco whispered to the exposed part of Jean’s collarbone. Jean couldn’t hold back a little moan as Marco’s hands wrapped around his waist, massaging his hipbones. He forgot the pain in his left arm and just watched Marco run his hands over him.  

“You know, I think I might leave you trapped a little bit longer,” Marco looked Jean right in the eye, and Jean’s face turned bright red.  

Yep. He _definitely_ knew.  

Marco placed his lips on Jean’s, and Jean melted right into them. He held Jean’s eager hips in place, pressing him hard up against the wall of the dressing room. But Jean craned his neck farther out, lips and tongue seeking to get even with Marco. Tongues and teeth clashed as they opened their mouths; it was messy and heated and wonderful. Jean wrapped his free arm around Marco’s head, pulling him closer. Marco’s hand wandered up Jean’s chest, one under his shirt, and he tweaked his nipples. Jean gave a squeak and they pulled apart.  

“That …that was…” Jean struggled to find the words.  

Marco’s hand snaked down to Jean’s blooming erection. “…arousing?” he finished for Jean.  

Marco palmed the tight fabric around Jean’s crotch and Jean moaned. “Yeah…” He sucked in a breath, jutting his hips forward so as to get as much friction with Marco’s hand as he could.   

Marco grinned deviously, "Perhaps we should try on some pants next?” Jean nodded eagerly.

“But first,” he said, forcing himself to pull back. “Get this fucking shirt off of me.”  

Marco tossed his head back and laughed, and Jean couldn’t help but smile, too.


End file.
